


When In Rome

by nowweare9direction (angryjam)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Famous Harry, Happy Ending, Journalist Louis, M/M, Movie AU, Non-Famous Louis, Non-Famous Niall, Popstar Harry, Roman Holiday AU, Rome - Freeform, famous!harry, liam really only has a cameo, nonfamous!louis, probably slightly grammatically incorrect italian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7096591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angryjam/pseuds/nowweare9direction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A modern day Roman Holiday AU, where Harry is the prince of pop on a European tour desperately in need of a break and Louis is an expat in Rome just trying to make rent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for fun and not to be shown to anyone in or connected to the band please. You don't need to have seen Roman Holiday for the fic to make sense, but if you haven't watched it you should! It's great! Stop reading after Chapter 1 if you want an ending true to the original, keep reading the epilogue if you are a sucker for happy endings.

Harry Styles pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes, hard enough that fireworks bloomed behind his closed eyelids. The couch was uncomfortable and the lights in the make-shift studio were hot. After nearly two days of travel and interviews his brain was fried. On top of that, his hair had gone limp and was starting to look stringy and he couldn’t find a hair tie. He sighed, and let his hands drop into his lap. For his fourth world tour in as many years, he hadn’t seen much of the world. Just a lot of arenas and the blinding lights of television studios and red carpets. He’d been in Rome for a full day now, and all he’d seen of it was the airport and the inside of cars and the hotel.

“Five minutes until the next interview, can we get makeup in here?” His handler, a severe-looking woman with blond hair in a sharp bob, frowned at him for a moment before snapping her eyes back down to her clipboard. A girl bustled in with a makeup kit, and motioned for him to close his eyes. “This one’s for Vogue Italy, it’s the last one of the day.”

Harry grunted in acknowledgement. The makeup brush tickled his nose.

“The interviewer is going to ask about your favorite Italian fashion house, and you’re going to say…”

“Valentino.”

“Gucci, Harry.”

“Gucci.”

The makeup girl tapped under his chin until he raised it up a bit. He kept his eyes closed.

“And when they ask you about how you like Italian girls?”

“No, thank you.”

“You say you like them very much.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“And when they ask you about Italian food, you’ll say…”

“Yes, thank you.”

“No, Harry, you’ll talk about your strict diet and workout regime and plug Bulletproof coffee.”

“No, thank you.”

She scowled and shooed the makeup girl away.

“Harry, I don’t think you are taking this seriously. Vogue Italy has a huge female audience, and a very international one at that. I don’t think I need to remind you what Simon told you in our last conference call, do I? European ticket sales are moving along fine, but your last album figures were disappointing at best.”

Harry opened his eyes and looked up at her. He glared, but didn’t say anything.

“Now, when the interviewer asks you about your feud with Zayn Malik, you’re to say….”

 

* * *

 

 

Night had already fallen by the time Harry was ushered out of the studio and into the back of an SUV. He slumped in the seat, watching Rome slide past, her colors muted by the tinted windows. The car sped by the Coliseum, all lit up for the night. The weather must have been nice for early spring - there were tourists still strolling past, stopping to take pictures with men dressed in fanciful gladiator costumes, and children happily licking brightly colored, melting gelato.

The car slowed to a stop at a light in front of a small restaurant. Tables were set up on a patio outside, almost all of them full of people eating and drinking and in no rush to be anywhere else in the world. Harry knocked his forehead against the window, looking back at the tableau as the car started moving again.

“I don’t suppose you’d let me hop out here, would you?” sighed Harry, leaning forward to rest his chin on the seat in front of him. He looked at the driver. The driver quickly glanced at him in the review mirror, clearly confused. “You could just say I disappeared. Or say the mafia took me. Or better yet, just say you never saw me and you have no idea who they’re talking about.”

“Mi dispiace, Signore,” said the driver with an apologetic smile “Non parlo inglese. Arriviamo prontissimo, non ti preoccupare.”

Harry sighed again. “Oh well. I imagine Rome is nice. I bet I’d like it, if I ever got to actually see it.”

Fifteen minutes later they pulled into the private back entrance of the Hotel Rome Cavalieri. Mrs. Vereberg from the label, her silver hair pulled into a tight bun, was there to greet him at the door. Well, to meet him at the door. She didn’t look up from her tablet, but rather motioned Harry to follow her as she led them down the plush hallway to the elevator and up to his suite.

When the door closed behind them, Harry let out a groan and threw himself onto his bed. He groaned again because the bed was so comfortable and the comforter silky and soft. The sheets probably had a ridiculously high thread count. He decided he hated the bed and everything it stood for.

“I’ve decided I don’t like this hotel,” said Harry, voice muffled by the pillows. “I think I’ll check out. There was a really fun looking hostel we passed down the street. I saw some guys drinking on the steps outside.”

“Enough of that,” Mrs. Vereberg scolded. “Now, tomorrow starts early. We need to drive you over to the hotel across town where Nada is staying so you can be papped leaving.”

“Who?” asked Harry, feeling a rock settled in his stomach. He toed off his shoes and hauled himself into a sitting position.

“That singer, last year’s runner-up in X Factor Italy. The one Simon told you about. You need to get papped leaving with an overnight bag before your press conference. The car will wait for you, and take you right to the conference from her hotel. There will be a slew of Italian media there, and I imagine some English-speaking papers as well. After the conference, you have a meeting with Gucci. One of our stylists is going with you this time. No more colors after that last suit, Harry. It was too flamboyant. Gucci’s going to try to strong arm you into wearing them at the Brits, too, but your contract with YSL will start then, so that’s a no-go.”

Harry heaved himself off his bed and walked over to his suitcase, which was open haphazardly on a luggage stand, clothes half hanging out of it and strewn on the floor underneath. Normally, he was meticulous about unpacking and hanging everything up, but lately he couldn’t seem to find the motivation. It wasn't like he actually got to go out wearing any of the clothes he packed. No, the clothes he had to be photographed in seemed to materialize on the hangers in the wardrobe.

“Can we do this tomorrow, Mrs. V?” asked Harry. “Please? My brain can’t take any more. I just want to shower and sleep.”

“Bear with me, Harry. You will then have lunch with that one Gucci model, remember, the one walking at their Milan show next week, at the outdoor tables at Armando al Pantheon.”

“What, two in one day?” Harry’s voice squeaked. “You’re kidding.”

“And then,” Mrs. Vereberg continued, “you have a radio interview at Rai 1, followed by filming for your appearance on Pomeriggio Cinque.”

“Stop. Please.”

“Then you’ll be meeting -”

“STOP,” yelled Harry. Mrs. Vereberg looked up from her tablet, surprise written across her face. Harry took a deep breath and held it in for a beat. Then, with a yell, pushed his suitcase onto the floor. “Enough! I can’t. I can’t do this anymore, okay? Please, don’t make me do any more pap walks, or have any more fake one-night stands.”

Mrs. Vereberg pursed her lips so tightly her mouth all but disappeared. She pulled out her phone, typing angrily for a minute, and then crossed her arms, leveling Harry with a hard stare.

“Harry,” she said sternly. “You knew exactly what you were getting into when you signed that contract.”

“I was sixteen when I signed that contract,” he bit back.

“You are going to do your job and honor your obligations and duties to your label and your management, and you are going to do it with a smile on your face.”

A sharp knock on the door cut off Harry’s answer before it left his mouth. Mrs. Vereberg, still frowning at Harry, walked over to the door and opened it. A maid cautiously entered, holding a tray with a steaming mug perched on it, along with a box of sleeping medicine. After a glance at Mrs. Vereberg, she brought it over to Harry, who automatically reached out to take it. The maid smiled at him, and slipped out of the room.

“I’ve taken the liberty of ordering your bedtime tea for you,” said Mrs. Vereberg. “And something to help you sleep. Drink up.”

“Thank you,” Harry said stiffly, raising the mug to his lips. They stood in silence, Harry drinking his tea, Mrs. Vereberg back on her tablet. When he finished, he set the mug down and walked back over to the bed, petulantly throwing himself on it. He suddenly felt much too tired to argue.

“Sleep well,” said Mrs. Vereberg. She briskly walked to the door, flicking the lights off on her way out.

“Mmmph...,” Harry mumbled. He fell asleep before he could finish his sentence.

 

* * *

 

Car horns blared outside and Harry groggily rolled over in bed. He pawed around the covers until he found his phone. The harsh glow of the screen told him it was two in the morning. Wiping a bit of drool off his face, he sat up, feeling a bit disoriented. He was still wearing the clothes he fell asleep in, his mouth tasted nasty, and he could tell his hair was greasy and tangled despite being pulled back into a bun.

Harry was halfway to the bathroom to brush his teeth when he suddenly got a better idea. Quietly, he changed direction and carefully opened the door of the suite. The soft ambient night light of the hallway spilled in, but when he stuck his head out the corridor was empty. He slipped out and bypassed the elevator in favor of the stairs.

He lost track of how many flights down he went when he stumbled out of the stairwell into a back alley. He cursed softly as the door clanged loudly shut behind him. After waiting in silence for a few minutes until he was sure no one heard, he crept around the side of the building. When he turned the corner, he saw a door propped open, bright fluorescent light glaring off the cobblestones. A white van was parked nearby, the back open and the smell of fresh bread in the air. Bingo.

Harry ran over to the van and crouched in its shadow. He could hear people inside what he realized was the kitchen, talking in tired, business-like tones. Taking another quick glance around, Harry hopped into the back of the van, ducking behind a half-full pan rack of freshly baked bread. Not a minute after he got situated, the voices came closer. He crouched lower as they approached. He couldn’t see what was happening, but heard the back door slam shut. A minute later, the engine started, and they were pulling away from the hotel, Harry safely stowed in the back.

When the van idled at a stoplight, Harry quickly scrambled to the doors and hopped out. He managed to latch them shut them behind him just in time for the van to speed off. A passer-by gave him a curious look, but Harry didn’t care. He was in Rome.

 

* * *

 

“Che cazzo stai facendo, Louis?”

“Oi! Just watch, alright? And watch your language Gui...Gug…the fuck’s your name, again?” A man with shaggy caramel colored hair and two-day old scruff reached around four empty bottles of wine for the half-empty bottle of Montenegro sitting in the middle of the table. He raised the bottle to his lips with one hand, the other holding a spread of cards. He knocked over two of the wine bottles setting it back down again.

“Gugliemo,” said the exasperated Italian, reaching over to right the bottles. He had a buzz cut and warm brown eyes, though they were getting a little hazy with alcohol. Still, he was intensely focused on the cards he had in his hands.

“That name’s ridiculous,” Louis announced. He loosely waved his hand towards another man at the table with blond hair and a bemused expression. “Niall, what’s the English equivalent of that? I’m renaming him.”

“Ah...William, I guess?”

“Okay,” said Louis. “Okay. William. No, still too long. Liam. You’re Liam, now. Okay. Who’s still in? No one? Do I win?”

“I am, you utter loser,” said a girl with dark hair and a slight Italian accent. “Anyway, you don’t even have any money left to bet, no way you win! And Jesus, you’ve been living here for two years, I know you can manage pronouncing an Italian name.”

“Is fine, Maria,” said Liam. His English had been getting both better and more accented with every drink. “I just call him Luigi now.”

Louis pointed at Liam. “I like you.” Liam beamed. “And you,” he said, turning his finger towards Maria. “You...okay, I’ll bet you a trade.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“If I win, I get all the money. If I lose, I’ll swap my next assignment with you. It’s the Roma vs Empoli game.”

“Fuck yes, I’ve been asking to cover calcio since I started here! You’re on.”

“Alright, hot shot, show me what you’ve got.”

They both slapped their cards down on the table. Everyone was quiet for a split second, and then the group erupted.

“Oh! Snap!” yelled Maria, reaching over to ruffle Louis’s hair. “What game were you playing, Tommo? This is poker! You need an actual hand to win!”

Louis groaned and dropped his head on the table. Niall pushed the bottle of Montenegro into his hands.

“So, that means I get the Roma game the day after tomorrow, and you have to go to a press conference for that British singer in about…,” she made a big show of checking her watch. “Oh, five hours.”

“I hate you,” said Louis, standing up. “All of you, actually. Every single one of you. I’m leaving, now, because apparently I have to work in the morning. Goodbye. You’re all dead to me.”

A round of half-hearted responses followed him out the door. Once he was outside, he paused to light a cigarette before starting the walk back to his apartment. Despite how warm it had been during the day, there was a chill to the air now. The streets were quiet, only the occasional delivery truck rumbling over the pavement. A couple hurried past, arms wrapped around each other and giggling together.

Louis was about to turn off the main street when a movement caught the corner of his eye. He turned to take a closer look. There was a figure curled up on a bench, barely illuminated by the dim streetlight, knees pulled to his chest and his back to the street. Louis was about to keep moving, assuming the guy was a drunk, sleeping it off, when the person shifted and the light caught the side of his face. He was a lot younger than Louis was expecting. Probably a student, he figured. Louis flicked his cigarette into the gutter, looking around. He walked over to the bench and gave the guy a poke.

“Hey, you alright? Stai bene?”

The figure made a noise and turned over, green eyes blinking open at him. He looked about the age of a uni student, but something about him didn’t quite fit the profile. Louis couldn’t put his finger on it. He just seemed a little too...pretty, maybe, to be one of those American bros who study abroad for easy grades and go too crazy with the readily available alcohol. And his hair was just a little too out there, long and curly, splayed out behind his head like a halo. His clothes definitely seemed too expensive and high-end for a backpacker or a gap-year traveler.

The boy smiled up at Louis, eyes closing again. “‘M happy,” he mumbled.

“No, seriously kid, did your friends leave you here? Where do you live?”

“The Coliseum,” he said with a giggle, eyes still closed and a smile on his lips.

Louis let out an exasperated breath, throwing up his hands. It was late, he was still a little drunk, had just lost a sizable chunk of money at poker, and to top it all off he stupidly had to be up at an actual reasonable hour for work. He didn’t have time to deal with a drunk pretty boy. Sleeping alone on a bench. In the middle of Rome. In the dead of night.

“Ugh,” said Louis, giving the guy a sharp poke. “Get up, Curly.”

“‘M happy,” he mumbled again. Louis rolled his eyes and reached down, sliding his arm under his waist and hauling him to his feet. The boy wrapped one arm around Louis’s shoulder and curled his body towards him.

“Where’re we going?” he mumbled.

“How wasted are you?” asked Louis. “Jesus. We’re going to my apartment so you don’t get mugged and murdered in the street. And, for the record, I am not happy about this. Also for the record: you must have shit friends.”

After a few stumbles and an unfortunate incident trying to get up four flights of stairs, they finally made it to Louis’s apartment. It wasn’t much - a tiny studio, mostly filled by a bed and a threadbare couch that had seen better days. There was a small kitchenette in one corner, with a mini fridge and a tiny two-burner stove. A pair of steps up led to the bathroom, which had just barely enough room for a toilet and a cramped shower. It was worth it, though, for the terrace.

The terrace was as big as the entire apartment and looked out over the small courtyard of the building. Just visible in the distance was the very top of Castel Sant’Angelo, all lit up. Never one much for urban gardening, Louis had gotten a few succulents and hard-to-kill cactuses to bring a little green to the space and had lined them around the edges of the terrace.

“Alright,” said Louis, kicking his shoes off and locking the front door behind him. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

Louis pushed the boy in the direction of the ratty couch and headed into the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and splashed some water over his face. When he went back into the main room he found that the boy had stripped down to his boxers and was sprawled out in the middle of his bed.

“Great,” grumbled Louis. “Fine. Help yourself to the bed.” He hit the light switch with more force than necessary and flopped down on the couch, curling his knees in so his feet wouldn’t hang over the edge. The sky was just barely beginning to brighten with early morning light when he fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

Louis woke up with a crick in his neck and a pounding in his head. Bright sunlight flooded the apartment, and the sound of birds chirping mixed with streets noises floated in through the window. Louis rolled over and promptly fell off the couch.

“Shit, ow.” He sat up, confused for a moment, before remembering that his good Samaritan deed of the night kicked him out of his own bed. He craned his neck to peek over the back of his couch. Curly was still there, and still passed out. Louis flopped back down on the floor and pulled his phone out of his pocket. 10:00 am. Shit. He was supposed to be at the press conference at nine.

Louis scrambled to his feet, rushing to the bathroom and shoving a toothbrush in his mouth while pulling on a clean pair of jeans. He grabbed his wallet and paused to quickly scribble a note on the back of a receipt, dropping it on the boy’s face. Then he was out the door, running down the stairs as quietly as possible so as to avoid his landlady. He was, maybe, just a little bit late on the rent. She liked him, though, because he’d been in that apartment for almost a year and never threw parties, so it wasn’t like she’d kick him to the curb immediately, but she had made it loud and clear she was getting annoyed waiting.

Fortunate bus timing meant he arrived at the office of _The Classical Roman_ paper by 10:30 am. The office itself was on the ground floor of a slightly depressing neo-fascist office building tucked away in the south of the city. The paper was one of the many English-language newspapers that was mainly aimed at students and expats. He started writing freelance for them, thanks to Niall, who had done a few photography gigs for the publication when he was still in school. It didn’t pay very much, but Louis usually managed to scrape together enough, between the freelance articles and the odd jobs here and there.

Louis hurried straight to the office at the back of the building. A brass name tag that read “Ben Winston, Direttore,” hung on the wall next to the door. He knocked and went in, not bothering to wait for an invitation. A man with black hair and arching eyebrows looked up from behind a large desk. Ben Winston, the editor-in-chief of _The Classical Roman_ was neither Roman nor classical, but he was married to an Italian and lived in Rome, so he felt himself to be a sort of local authority on all things expat.

“Ah, Louis,” he said. “Back from the press conference? I got an email from Maria that you were taking that one.”

“Yes. Um, yes, I am just arriving here directly from the press conference, Mr. Winston.”

“Please, Louis, Signore Winston. It is very important that, as expats, we make an effort to adopt the culture.” Ben leaned forward in his chair, giving Louis a hard look. “So. The press conference.”

Louis fought hard to maintain a neutral expression. “Right. Yes. It was fine.”

“Good, good. And did you get a question in?”

“Yup. Definitely.”

“Really? Impressive, Louis, impressive,” he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his ankle over his knee. “Very impressive, given that the press conference was canceled.” He spun his computer screen around to display a their own website’s front page. Topping it was the headline _Brit Prince of Pop Harry Styles Cancels Day of Events Due to Illness_. Louis’s gut dropped. He needed that article if he wanted to get his rent in by the end of the week, and he probably could’ve gotten away with faking one or two generic quotes if the conference hadn’t been canceled.

“Louis,” sighed Ben. “This is unacceptable. I’m not going to be able to give you assignments if you aren’t going to show up for them. Do you hear me?”

Louis studiously avoided making eye contact with Ben by pretending to be interested in the article. His eyes skimmed over the screen, pausing on the thumbnail picture accompanying the headline. It showed a singer on stage, long curly hair and a bright smile on his face.

“Hang on,” said Louis, tapping at the picture. “Who’s that?”

“That, Louis, is the singer whose conference you slept through. Which you should have known, had you done background research. I expect a level of professionalism from all my staff, you know, and-”

“Wait, I have a proposal. How much would an exclusive with this guy be worth?” asked Louis, raising an eyebrow.

“Do you know something I don’t, Tomlinson?” he asked, eyeing Louis with suspicion.

“No, how much, though? With photos and everything?”

“Well...I mean, I have a few connections in the media world, of course, who would be pretty interested in a story, if there’s actually one there. It would be more if there was a bit of scandal in it…”

“Okay, what if I promise that by tomorrow I can get you an exclusive, scandalous story on this Styles guy, complete with photos? What would you give me?”

“If you’re not bullshitting me, I could give you….5,000 euros,” said Ben. “But I need pictures. Photos or it didn’t happen, like the kids say these days.”

“Five thousand and a staff writing job,” Louis countered. “And one hundred in advance.”

Ben crossed his arms. “Fine. But if you don’t deliver, you’re giving back the money and you have to do your next five assignments for free.”

Louis grinned and held out his hand. “Deal.”

 

* * *

 

“Look, Niall, just don’t question me, okay?” said Louis, holding his phone up to his ear with his shoulder while he struggled with the lock on his apartment door. “Meet me at Bar Michelangelo in an hour, and bring your camera…no, I don’t care what your plans were. This is gonna make you a thousand euros if it works, okay? Promise.”

Louis hung up as he stepped over the threshold into his apartment. He had done some quick googling on the bus ride home, and had a rough idea of who this Harry Styles character was. XFactor something or other a few years back, managed to get a fan base, pumping out an album a year ever since. Connoisseur of starlets and models and an expert on short flings and one night stands.

He kicked the door shut behind him and looked around his apartment. His empty apartment. The bed was made and, strangely, his dishes were cleaned and stacked to the side of the sink. His heart stopped for a moment, until he realized the bathroom door was shut and the shower was running. “Oh thank God,” he muttered to himself. If Harry had gone, he’d be out over half a year’s easy rent.

He stood in the middle of the apartment for a moment, thinking. He needed to go about this the right way if he was going to convince Harry Styles to hang out with him long enough to spill something. On top of that, he needed to get pictures, which meant he needed to get Harry to a place where Niall could meet up with them. Or at least get close enough to snap a few covert photos. Well, Louis hadn’t known who Harry was until this morning. Maybe if he kept up the pretense, the popstar would relax enough to slip.

With a plan of action in mind, Louis crossed to the kitchen and rummaged around in his cabinets until he found his Bialetti coffeemaker. He rinsed it out and put the coffee on the stove, and then reached over to the bathroom door and gave it a few loud knocks. A squeal came from inside, followed by the sound of shampoo bottles crashing to the floor.

“Ah, shit. Sorry! Um..scusi? I’ll be out in a second!” a low voice yelled out, over the sound of the cranky pipes.

“No worries, mate,” Louis called back. “I’ve got coffee on the terrace when you’re ready.”

Louis kept rummaging through the cabinets to find mugs while the little coffee pot started to bubble. He emerged with one washed out Nutella container and a chipped espresso mug. Pouring the hot coffee into the cups, he took them out to the terrace and set them on the rickety wooden table. The sun was just about right overhead, lighting the terrace up brightly. The whole thing essentially turned into an oven in the summer, but in the early spring the sun just made the air pleasantly warm.

It was obvious Harry was supposed to be off doing whatever it was popstars did, and that his team was scrambling to cover for him. Why else issue a press release saying he was ill? Probably covering up for a late night drinking and partying, Louis figured. Though, to be fair, he kind of missed work for the same reasons. Louis took a sip of coffee as the door leading to the terrace opened.

Harry stepped out, back in his wrinkled clothes from the night before. His hair was hanging damply down his back, longer with the weight of the water. He stood awkwardly just beyond the threshold.

“Um. Hi," he said, blinking in the sunlight. "I’m so sorry about last night. I’m pretty embarrassed to be honest. It was really rude of me to impose. And kind of you to let me use your bed.” He kept his eyes down, concentrating on fussing with the hem of his shirt.

“Wild one last night, was it?” asked Louis, looking up at Harry, who hadn’t moved. Louis gestured for him to take the battered lawn chair across from Louis.

“Um, not actually,” said Harry. He tentatively crossed the terrace and sat in the chair across from Louis, finally looking him in the eye and nervously biting his lower lip. Louis could see how pics of this guy would sell. Objectively, he was just….pretty. Earnest green eyes and plump pink lips certainly didn’t hurt his looks. The strong sunlight on the terrace was already starting to make his hair dry into silky curls.

Louis nodded towards the mug of coffee.“It was...I had taken some sleeping pills?” said Harry cautiously, reaching out for the coffee. “Cuz I have insomnia. I mean, not always, but lately...yeah.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. Okay, so not quite as scandalous as he was hoping, but still interesting.“You took sleeping pills? Generally, though, isn’t that something you do before, oh, I don’t know, going to sleep in your own bed?”

“Well, I did! Except then I...just fancied a walk.” Harry took a sip of the coffee and grimaced a little.

“So, what’s your name, then?” asked Louis casually. Harry choked on his coffee and looked over at him, eyes widening slightly. He gave Louis a sharp look.

“It’s Ha...rold. Harold Stevens.”

“Alright, Harold,” said Louis easily, reaching over to shake his hand. He flashed him his most winning smile. “I’m Louis. Pleasure to meet you. I know my coffee’s a bit shit - fancy going to the bar round the corner to grab one?”

Harry slowly let go of Louis’s hand, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Thanks, Louis. I mean, it’s nice to meet you. I can’t get coffee, though, I really have to go. I’m late for...well, for everything, actually, and probably in a heap of trouble.” Harry stood up and started walking back towards the apartment. “Thanks again, though, for being so nice.”

Louis scrambled out of his chair after Harry. “Ah, no, come on! I mean, if you’re already late, no harm in being a little later, right? My treat. Seriously. This place has the best coffee in Rome, I swear.”

“I can’t,” said Harry. He went over to the sink and set his mug down inside. He reached for the sponge, but then stopped himself and settled on just rinsing the cup instead.

“Gelato, then? If coffee isn’t your thing? Or wine? I mean, it’s after eleven, totally socially acceptable to start drinking.You know, when in Rome and all that.”

Harry frowned to himself. “Why so insistent?”

Louis panicked. “Because you’re hot?” Harry dropped the cup into the sink with a loud clang. Louis’s eyes widened and he clapped a hand over his mouth. “Shit.” That wasn’t even close to what he had wanted to say, and, he imagined, definitely not the thing that was going to get The Sun’s Shagger of the Year Award winner to stick around.

There was a beat of silence as Harry turned off the sink and turned around. Louis braced himself for whatever backlash or awkward exchange was coming. What he did not expect was to see a deep blush spread over Harry’s face. Huh. Louis crossed his arms and cocked his head, fascinated by Harry’s reaction.

“Um. Th-thanks?” stammered Harry. He looked like he was biting back a smile, and the blush hadn’t died down. “You...um. Also? Thanks, I mean. Like...I wish I could? Because you seem very...nice. But I really have to go.”

He wiped his hands on his pants and patted his pockets as he stepped past Louis. Louis trailed after him trying to think of what card he could play next, and promptly crashed into Harry’s back when he stopped abruptly in front of the door.

“Sorry!” said Harry, quickly reaching out to grab Louis’s arm to steady him. “Sorry. I just realized…”

“Yes, Harold?” prompted Louis. He wondered if Harry realized he was still gripping his arm.

“God,” said Harry, letting out a dry laugh. “I don’t have my wallet.”

Louis frowned. “Did someone steal it? I mean, you were pretty out of it last night, it would’ve been a piece of cake to lift it off of you, you’d never notice. Which, I realize as I’m saying this, makes me sound very suspicious.”

“Nah, I know exactly where it is. It’s back at my….where I’m staying. I never thought to bring it with me last night.” Harry suddenly dropped his hand from Louis’s arm, like he just remembered it was there. He looked at him sheepishly.“Well, since I’ve already done a thorough job of embarrassing myself in front of a complete stranger, do you think I could borrow some cash to get back? I swear I’ll repay you.”

Louis mentally high-fived his past self for thinking to ask for a cash advance from Ben, and then mentally high-fived his current self for the situation. Even if Harry left now, he’d have to meet up with him again to return the money.

Harry mistook Louis’s pause for hesitance. “Seriously, what’s your address? I’ll have someone send money over today. And extra, too. It’s the least I can do.”

“What? Oh, hey, no problem. How far do you need to get?” asked Louis, pulling out his wallet and handing over some bills to Harry. “Fifty should be more than enough to get you a cab anywhere in the city from here, I reckon.”

“What’s your address?” asked Harry, taking the cash. He was blushing again.

“Why don’t we just meet up later? You don’t have to send someone over.”

“No, I can send someone,” Harry insisted, hand on the doorknob and eyes on Louis. “Thanks again, Louis. It really was nice to meet you. Sorry about everything.”

With that, Harry Styles left.

Louis waited about ten seconds before grabbing his phone, sunglasses, and pulling a snapback on low over his eyes and quietly slipping out after him.

 

* * *

  
Harry was still reeling from about fifty different kinds of embarrassment as he hurried down the street, putting as much distance between himself and Louis’s apartment as he could. He was embarrassed that he had been so careless and stupid last night, embarrassed that some stranger found him like that, embarrassed he had to ask for money, and on top of it all, he was still feeling extremely flustered by Louis’s attention. He spent so long not allowing himself even to think about flirting with a man that all it took was one attractive stranger calling him hot to leave him tongue tied. Harry had been called hot by a lot of people in the past few years, but coming from Louis’s mouth, it suddenly made him bashful.

It was hard to get a good read on Louis, at first. What kind of person let a total stranger crash in their apartment, and then trust them enough just to leave them alone in the morning? There were times when Harry was sure Louis knew who he was, but clearly that wasn’t the case.

He stopped walking and took a deep breath. It was fine. Everything turned out fine. He miraculously avoided being recognized, or robbed, for that matter, and it was still early in the day. He pulled his phone out of his pocket - somehow he remembered that last night, but of course he forgot his wallet. The battery bar blinked at a dangerous 3%. He sighed and pulled up his contact list to dial Mrs. Vereberg.

He leaned against the wall as he hit call, bringing the phone to his ear. His eyes wandered around the little street he was on as it started to ring. He didn’t know where he was, but it sure was pretty. The cobblestones beneath him were worn smooth from centuries of use. The buildings around him were painted, some a faded pink, others a cheery pastel yellow. Almost all the windows had planters hanging from them, and those that didn’t had fresh laundry drying on lines suspended over the street. He could hear voices drifting down from above him, punctuated by the occasional scrape of a fork and clink of a plate. The air smelled of someone’s cooking, notes of basil and mint tinged with just a bit of cigarette smoke. For the first time, he actually felt like he was in Rome.

“Where the hell have you been?” Mrs. Vereberg’s angry voice snapped him back to reality. His muscles automatically tensed. “What kind of irresponsible behavior is this? Do you have any idea how we’ve been trying to cover for you here? We've been worried. Where are you? I’m sending a car at once.”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” said Harry, rolling his eyes. “I’m at…”

Harry paused, glancing up at the street sign fixed to the side of the building across from him. As he was squinting to read the sign in the bright sunlight, movement in an adjacent window caught his eye.

The window looked into the kitchen of someone’s apartment. An old lady, white hair twisted up into a barrett on the back of her head, sat at a table drinking coffee and reading a newspaper. A man entered the scene, carrying a plate of pastries. He sent it down on the table and kissed the woman’s cheek before walking out of view.

“Harry? We haven’t got all day.”

“Right, sorry,” said Harry. “Actually...my phone’s about to die. I just wanted to call and say I’m fine, and I promise I’ll be back before sound check tomorrow.”

“This is unacceptable, Harry! You do know what it says in your contract abou-”

Harry ended the call. Then, for good measure, he switched his phone off entirely.

 

* * *

  
Two hours later and a double scoop gelato in hand (one scoop mint and one scoop stracciatella), Harry was thoroughly lost and happier than he had been in ages. At one point he stopped to buy some cheap sunglasses off at a souvenir kiosk, as well as a ridiculous sun hat. Though sorely tempted to throw in a novelty David apron, he felt a little too guilty knowing he was using Louis’s money, and restrained himself. With his hair pulled back and wearing his new purchases, he felt like he had a pretty solid incognito look going. He knew he was lucky that it was off-season for tourists, though, and every time he saw a piazza that looked a little too crowded, he veered in another direction.

Harry randomly turned down another small street, and stopped abruptly when he saw the little shop that was around the corner. His Italian was pretty nonexistent, but based on the photos in the window and the red, white and blue barber pole slowly rotating next to the sign, he could hazard a pretty good guess at what “parrucchiere” meant. It took him two seconds to make the decision to walk through the door.

“Ciao, buongiorno signore!” A middle aged woman with aggressively red dyed hair greeted him from behind a small counter. Behind her were two green vinyl salon chairs in front of a giant mirrored wall. There was a sink off to one side.

“Um, ciao. Sorry, I don’t speak Italian. How are you?” asked Harry, reaching up to take off his hat.

“Ah, no problem! American?” asked the woman. She gave him a very business-like once over, and then amended her question to “British?”

“Yeah. I was hoping to get a haircut?”

The woman snapped her fingers at him and pointed to one of the chairs. Harry sat down, and she whipped a styling cape around him. She pulled his hair out of its bun, gently working her fingers through the still slightly damp strands to work out the snarls. Harry let out a contented sigh.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Idilia,” she responded. “Tu?”

“Harry.”

“Hmmm,” she said, still eyeing up his hair. She picked up some scissors. “How much do you want to cut? A trim?”

She held the scissors up to his hair, about half an inch from the bottom.

“Higher,” said Harry. Idilia raised her scissors another inch. “Higher.” She indicated another inch up. “Even more.” She raised an eyebrow.

“All off?” she asked.

Harry’s stomach fluttered. He suddenly felt a little unsure. He really did like his long hair. He started growing it out to rebel against the “look” his management was going for. It was, albeit, a very slow-going rebellion, but it made him feel a little more in control. But now his hair had become a trademark.

“All of it,” he said with certainty.

“Bravo,” nodded Idilia approvingly. “Sometimes, big change is best change.”

She got to work, and for the next quarter hour the only sound in the shop was the sharp snip of the scissors occasionally interchanged with the sound of an electric razor. Harry felt lighter and more relaxed with every lock he saw tumbling down to the floor.

Finally, the sound of the scissors stopped and Idilia spun his chair around to face the mirror.

“So, ‘Arry, what do you think? Your own mother wouldn’t recognize you now!”

Harry’s jaw dropped a little. He looked...well, he looked different. Younger, maybe, but he wasn’t sure if that was just because it has been years since his hair was this short. This cut, though, was by far the shortest it had ever been, but with enough length that Idilia could still style it back a bit. He reached up and ran a hand through his hair, marveling at how smooth and short it felt. “It’s perfect,” he said. “Grazie so much.”

Idilia beamed at him. Harry helped her take the styling cape off of him, then ambled over to the front counter to pay. His stomach dropped a little when he realized he only had about fifteen euros left. Well. He’d make it last, somehow. It would be an adventure. He thanked Idilia again, and headed back out into Rome, feeling more anonymous than he had in years.

 

* * *

 

Following Harry around for the past hour had left Louis thoroughly confused. It was clear that Harry wasn’t actually in a rush to get to where he had to go, despite his insistence on leaving earlier. When he wandered into the barbershop. Louis wondered if maybe he was pulling a Britney. Surely there was lots of stardom stress and whatnot, right? Louis crouched under the front window of the shop, raising his head to peek inside. Maybe he’d be selling Ben the story of the pop star who hit rock bottom after an all night rager.

Harry was smiling, though, and looked happy during the exchange with the hairdresser. Louis found himself letting out a breath of relief when she went for the scissor instead of the razor. Harry had seemed like a nice guy, at least when he was actually awake. Polite, if a little reserved. Louis would’ve felt bad if he was actually having a breakdown.

Staying as quiet and low as possible, Louis brought his phone up to snap a few pictures. After about fifteen minutes, it seemed like the haircut was finished. Harry still looked really good, but his long hair had been just...lovely, really. Louis snapped another picture, but then Harry and the woman turned around and started walking towards the front.

“Shit!” Louis ducked under the window of the barbershop and awkwardly ran in a crouch around the corner. He froze, listening intently. The shop door opened and clanged shut. The sound of boot heels hitting the pavement echoed off the buildings. They were walking in the other direction.

When the footsteps grew faint, Louis peeked around the corner. Harry was far enough away that he risked stepping out to follow him, making sure his hat was pulled low. He took his phone out and punched in Niall’s number.

“Dude,” said Niall, picking up. “Seriously what’s going on? I’m still not convinced this isn’t some elaborate but ultimately poorly thought out prank.”

“It’s not a prank!” Louis hissed quietly into the phone. He kept his eyes trained on Harry ahead of him. He seemed to be walking taller, now, and his body language seemed more relaxed. “I’m looking at him right now. He just got a haircut.”

“Wow. Fascinating,” said Niall, clearly not wowed or fascinated.

“Okay, so, I’ve been keeping tabs, and I think he’s going to run out of money soon,” said Louis. “So my plan is to casually bump into him again, so can you come meet us? And bring cash. And your moped. And bring the extra helmet. And your camera.”

Niall didn’t respond for a few seconds.

“Please? Pretty please?”

“Fine. Where am I meeting you?”

“Yes! Thank you. We’re heading in the direction of that one place with the...you know, that one bar with the patio and columns that has that bicycle hanging from the ceiling?”

“You owe me,” was all Niall said before ending the call.

Louis did a silent fist pump before shoving his phone back into his pocket. Harry had gotten quite a bit ahead of him, but the street wasn’t crowded and he was easy to spot. Louis did a quick mental calculation, then turned onto a side street that ran diagonally to the one he just got off of. He started running, until he figured he went far enough to be ahead of Harry, and then doubled back towards the first street. Sure enough, when he glanced around the corner he could see Harry wandering slowly in his direction. Pretending to be concentrating on texting, he turned onto the street just in time to run right into Harry.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry! Sorry, I...Louis?” Harry reached up and pushed Louis’s hat up a little to reveal more of his face.

“Whoa, Harold?” said Louis, feigning surprise. “Fancy running into you here! I thought you had places to be? What did you do to your hair?”

“Do you like it?” He asked, sounding a little self-conscious.

“Yeah,” grinned Louis. He reached up to ruffle his newly shorn hair. “Suits you. Very classically handsome, you can see those pretty cheekbones of yours better now.”

Louis felt pleased to see Harry blush again. “Come on then, how about that drink?”

Harry chewed on his bottom lip, small frown on his face. He looked at Louis, then down at his feet. When he looked back up, he wasn’t frowning anymore. Instead it looked like he was biting back a smile. He shrugged.

“I really shouldn’t. I have -”

“Places to be,” finished Louis. “Come on. You’re already late. Have a little holiday.”

Harry grinned. “I could do some of the things I’ve always wanted to do.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know...I could do just whatever I like! All day long!”

“Like getting your haircut?” Louis was smiling now, watching Harry’s excitement grow.

“And eating gelato,” agreed Harry. “Sitting on a sidewalk cafe, look in shop windows. Maybe go dancing? Have fun, you know? Maybe some excitement. Something unscheduled. Probably sounds boring to you.”

“Nah, it sounds great,” said Louis. “I’ll tell you what - come get that drink, and I'll take you around the city myself.”

“Don’t you have work?” asked Harry.

“Went in this morning. Come on, we can check that sidewalk cafe off your list.”

 

* * *

 

 

“So, Harry,” said Louis, taking a sip of his drink. “What are you doing in Rome, then?”

They were sitting at the outdoor patio of a small bar. There were a few other patrons, some chatting with each other, some enjoying a drink and a paper alone. It was one of Louis’s favorite places to go for a coffee or a quick afternoon drink. It was never too packed with tourists, but did a pretty solid business with the locals in the neighborhood.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, then shut it again, and then took a drink. He looked at the cup curiously as he lowered it from his mouth. “What did you order us?”

“Do you like it?” asked Louis. “It’s a spritz. Most refreshing drink there is. Perfect for an afternoon break.”

“Yeah, it’s good,” agreed Harry. “How long have you been living here, then?”

“You’re ignoring the question,” Louis said, shaking a finger at him. A movement from behind Harry caught his eye. Niall had arrived. He gave a little wave to Louis and lifted his camera. Louis quickly shifted his gaze back to Harry. “But I’ve been here about...two years now, give or take.”

“Wow,” said Harry, letting Louis’s accusation slide. “Why did you come? Do you like it here? I mean, you must, if you’ve been here two years. Do you miss home?”

Louis shrugged, sipping his drink. “I came after graduation for an internship. Met someone, and he asked me to move here permanently when my internship ended. Didn’t have much else going on, and a mate of mine was able to hook me up with a job with a news….with some odd jobs here and there. Figured I might as well stick around.”

“Oh,” said Harry. He didn’t want to think about why he was feeling...disappointed, almost. It wasn’t like anything was going to happen with Louis. He probably hadn’t even been flirting. Just friendly and polite. It wasn’t like he could allow anything to happen, even if he wanted to. “That’s very romantic.”

“Yeah,” said Louis, rolling his eyes. “The most romantic part was that about two weeks after I signed the lease on my place, he had a quarter life crisis and decided to fuck off to Brazil.”

Harry frowned, fiddling with the damp napkin under his drink. “Sorry. Why did you stick around, then?”

“Eh, I wasn’t up to moving again. So, laziness, I guess. And I liked it well enough here. Made some good friends. Speaking of, actually, I think I see a mate of mine heading this way.” Louis looked past Harry’s shoulder to catch Niall’s eye. He waved him over, giving him a look that he hoped Harry didn’t see.

“Hey, Louis!” Said Niall, walking over and clapping him on his back. He swung his camera strap around so it was hanging off his back when he saw Harry eyeing it suspiciously. “What are you doing here, bro?”

“Niall, hey. This is Harold. Harold, this is Niall. Met him the day I moved here, and I’ve been regretting it ever since.”

“Oh fuck off,” said Niall, pulling up a seat. He reached over to shake Harry’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. What’s, um, the camera for?”

“Work. I’m a photographer-”

“-for weddings,” cut in Louis quickly. It had to be not weird that Niall had a camera, but definitely needed to leave out the whole “working for the press” thing. “Does tons of wedding photos. People love getting married in Italy, for some reason.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Harry’s mouth. “Yeah, don’t know why. Totally not pretty. Or romantic.”

“Seen much of Italy, then?” Asked Niall casually. He motioned to the waiter, who brought another spritz over.

“Um, not much,” admitted Harry. “I’ve been a couple of times, here to Rome and to Milan a lot, but haven’t actually gotten a chance to see much besides airports and hotels.”

“Is that so, Harry?” said Louis “You never did answer me, about what you’re doing in Rome.”

Harry, who froze midway through bringing his cup up to his mouth. “What did you call me?”

This time Niall jumped in. “Typical Louis. Seriously, this guy thinks it’s his God-given calling to nickname everyone one he meets.”

“I do not!” Louis pressed his hand to his chest, feigning offence. Under the table he gave Niall’s ankle a grateful little kick. “How very dare you!”

“It’s true! Did you or did you not, just last night, rename Gugliemo ‘Liam’?”

“That was for his own benefit,” Louis protested. He glanced over at Harry, looking for a reaction. He felt inordinately pleased to see a big smile on his face. “Much easier to say. He’ll thank me in the long run.”

Niall, drink now in hand, turned towards Harry and took out his phone. “In the last dozen text messages, he’s called me….let’s see… ‘Ni, Nialler, Little N, Nialltino, Neil, Nail Gun, and Irish Bastard. So, welcome to the club, I guess.”

Harry was grinning now. “I don’t mind if you call me Harry,” he said, shrugging.

“Anyway, so what are you doing in Rome, Harry?” asked Niall again. “Studying?”

“Yes,” said Harry quickly. “Yeah. Just here for a few days though but yes. In uni.”

“Shame you aren’t here for longer!” said Niall. “Rome’s the greatest. Delicious food, pretty girls - or boys, if that’s your thing - history and that art stuff. It’s got it all.”

“I wish I could see more of it, for sure,” said Harry earnestly. His eyes flicked over to Louis, and then down to the table. He tore at his napkin a little more. “Not just the tourist stuff, either. I mean, I’d still want to see the touristy stuff, but there’s more to a city than the brochures, you know? I’d want to really experience the city. To live in it.”

Louis smiled at Harry, whose eyes were shining with enthusiasm as he talked. The popstar was growing on him. He wasn’t at all what Louis had been expecting. Much more polite and genuine. Not the love-’em-and-leave-’em type the papers described him as. Definitely not as strictly straight as the papers described him, either. But definitely as pretty. Short hair or not, his features were just arresting. It was hard not to look at him. His lips, too, were just mesmerizing as he spoke.

A sharp kick to the shins jolted Louis out of his daydreams and back to the conversation. “...should get Louis to show you around today,” Niall was saying. He glanced over at Louis and subtly raised an eyebrow. “He’s a really great tour guide, actually. Thought about trying to get a job doing guiding. Nearly got certified, even.”

“Really? That’s awesome! You’d probably be a great guide,” Harry said with a serious nod, holding eye contact with Louis. “You’re very good at welcoming people. Why didn’t you get certified, though?”

Louis shrugged. “The courses I needed to take to prep for the exam were really expensive, so I had to work more to afford them, but then I had to miss class to work...unfortunate cycle, that. I’d show you around today, though.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t ask you to,” said Harry. He let out a sigh, and looked around. “You’ve been too kind already. I’m taking advantage of you.”

“Nah,” said Niall. “Lou’s happy to.”

“I couldn’t…” said Harry, biting his lip. Louis hadn’t known him for long, but he was pretty confident Harry’s protest was an empty one.

“Trust me, you could,” countered Niall. He had a scheming look in his eye that Louis didn’t like. “I’ve got my moped parked right outside, and an extra helmet. I’ll lend it to you guys. Plus, riding around Rome with a handsome bloke wrapped behind him will put Louis in a better mood than he’s been in for weeks.”

“Niall!” Louis hissed, as Harry burst out laughing. His eyes widened as though his own laugh surprised him, and he clapped a hand over his mouth. Louis got up from the table, dragging Niall with him. “We’ll be right back, H, don’t go anywhere!”

Pulling a cackling Niall in his wake, Louis dragged them inside the bar.

“What the hell, Niall?” Louis asked. “We’re supposed to be not scaring him off! We’re supposed to be getting him comfortable enough to spill something we can sell to Ben!”

“Mate, if your blatant ogling and coy glances haven’t scared him off, nothing will,” said Niall, waggling his eyebrows. “I think he’s smitten with you.”

“Niall, this is-” Louis looked around a lowered his voice to a whisper “- Harry Styles that we’re talking about here. He’s shagged more Victoria’s Secret models than...than DiCaprio!”

Niall gave Louis a very unimpressed look. “Okay, maybe a bad example.” Niall crossed his arms and gave Louis another, slightly different unimpressed look. Louis huffed.

“Look, Louis. I’m going along with this ridiculous plan of yours, for now,” said Niall, throwing an arm around Louis’s shoulder and pulling him in. “I know you need the money.”

“I can tell there’s a ‘but’ coming,” grumbled Louis.

“But Harry actually seems kind of...cool? And I think you like him, and he likes you, and that might be your best bet at getting something gossip-worthy for an article. And I know that deep down you aren’t an ass and know when to draw the line when it comes to people’s private lives,” said Niall, giving Louis a significant look. “So, here are the keys to my moped. Go show him around Rome. Take him to dinner, take him dancing. Get to know him. Text me your next stops and I’ll creep around after you and take some pictures.”

Louis glared at Niall, but snatched the keys out of his hand anyway. He stormed back towards the patio. “You’re paying the bill, right Niall? Thanks!” He called over his shoulder.

 

* * *

 

Niall was an evil genius. Louis had spent the past hour with Harry pressed up against his back, arms tightening around his waist every time he took the moped around a sharp corner or cut things a little close when weaving between cars. He took Harry on a driving tour of the biggest attractions in Rome, yelling a running commentary over the traffic. From the bar in Trastevere, Louis drove them around the Vatican and made a quick stop to see Bernini’s Colonnade, its columned arms hugging the square. Then, they drove past Castel Sant’Angelo (“Hey, that’s the thing you can see from your apartment!” Harry exclaimed excitedly when he recognized it) and across the Tiber.

Louis drove them south along the banks of the river, and eventually turned left onto a large avenue and then just off onto a smaller side street. He parked the bike and patted Harry’s leg, indicating he should get off. Harry climbed off the back of the bike and stretched, looking around but making no move to take off Niall’s battered green helmet or his sunglasses. Louis noticed, but didn’t say anything. He motioned for Harry to follow him around the corner.

They came to a stop in front of a brick church. An arcade seven bays long ran across the front and a tall square bell tower rose from the behind the right side. Even though it was still early in the season, there was a small group of tourists clustered around something at one end of the portico. Louis kept Harry off to the side and out of eyeline of the group of tourists as he started talking.

“This,” he said with a grand sweeping gesture towards the building, “is the church of Santa Maria in Cosmedin. And while the church itself is lovely and old and all that, its claim to fame is that just under those arches there is the Bocca della Verita - the Mouth of Truth.”

Harry gasped and grabbed Louis by the shoulders. “Is that that thing? You know, with the mouth? I’ve always wanted to see that!”

“It sure is. Come on.”

The tour group shuffled out of the portico and clambered onto a tour bus idling in front of the church. Once the last tourist got on, Louis grabbed Harry by the hand and pulled him up to the left side of the structure, stopping in front of a giant round stone slab. A wild, bearded man’s face was carved onto it, it’s features old and worn away by centuries of exposure. The mouth of the man gaped open. Once they were in the semi-private space behind the arches, Harry finally took off his sunglasses, but not the helmet.

“Behold,” said Louis. “The Mouth of Truth. Legend has it that if you stick your hand in its mouth and tell a lie, it’ll bite it off.”

“Well. That...that is slightly horrifying,” said Harry. “How old is it?”

“Pretty old. 1st century, I think. So, Harold, want to stick your hand in it? Feeling honest?”

Harry’s smile dropped off his face and his expression clouded over. A moment later, though, it was gone, and Louis couldn’t be sure it wasn’t just a trick of the light.

“Maybe you want to demonstrate first?” Harry raised an eyebrow at Louis and crossing his arms.

“Chicken,” said Louis, stepping closer to the mouth. He brought his hand toward the statue, and paused, dramatically. He slowly reached into the statue’s gaping maw.

“And don’t pretend it chomped your hand off,” said Harry, as Louis opened his mouth to do just that. He let out an indignant sound, and pulled his hand - unharmed - back out of the mouth.

“How very dare you accuse me of such a thing!” gasped Louis. “I would never! See? You can trust that I would never, because my hand is intact. I can’t abide by these accusations, Harold. We’re leaving.”

He turned around and marched back to the moped with Harry laughing right behind him.

 

* * *

 

They drove away from the church and cut in to circle around the Forum and the Colosseum (“You live there, Harry, remember?” Louis teased. Harry responded by pinching his side, causing a rather embarrassingly high-pitched squeak to come out of Louis’s mouth.)

After the Forum fell behind them, Louis let his commentary die off as they drove through some smaller, quieter back streets. When they stopped at a light, Harry let out a contented sigh. Louis twisted around to look at Harry over his shoulder. Even though his face was still half covered by the helmet and sunglasses, his big smile was evident. He saw Louis looking at him and grinned wider, leaning forward to knock their helmets together.

“You’re an amazing tour guide,” said Harry. “You should do this for real. You could run moped tours!”

Louis snorted, and turned forward, but reached down to give Harry’s arm a quick squeeze. The light was taking forever. He fished his phone out of his pocket and saw he had three missed text messages.

 **Niall** : ???  
**Niall** : Go to Trevi, I’ll wait for you there.  
**Niall** : Get his damn helmet off.

“Lou, I hope you aren’t texting and mopeding at the same time,” scolded Harry.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Louis, shoving his phone back in his pocket just as the light changed. “Hold on, I know where we’re going next.”

Harry giggled and Louis revved the little bike and took off. He knew they could get to Trevi in about ten minute, but he decided to take a more scenic route. After all, Harry hadn’t really seen Rome before. Niall could wait a few extra minutes.

 

* * *

 

Harry got off the moped, legs feeling a little stiff. Louis had parked the bike on a side street, insisting that their next destination was better approached on foot. They left the bike and walked down a small road that spit them out into a piazza that was dominated by the largest, most ornate fountain Harry had ever seen. He stopped dead in his tracks, mouth agape.

The fountain was hanging off the facade of a building, providing it with a dramatic background of columns, niches, and statuary. It reminded Harry a bit of the Arch of Constantine that they had driven past earlier. At the very top and center of the fountain was a muscular, bearded man carved in white marble, larger than life and scantily swathed in drapery that seemed to be impossibly flowing in the breeze. The figure partially reclined in something that bore a strong resemblance to a seashell. One level below him were two more absolutely ripped marble youths, grappling with creatures that looked to be part horse, part fish. Water spilled down large steps from below the bearded man’s feet, crashing into a huge pool at the base. If Harry closed his eyes, he could feel the mist from the fountain fall onto his face.

Harry noticed Louis come up next to him, quietly letting Harry appreciate the work of art in front of them.

“Here,” said Louis. He reached up to Harry’s chin for the helmet strap. Harry immediately grabbed Louis’s wrist to stop him. The piazza was busy, tourists clustered around the fountain snapping pictures and people sitting at cafes along the edge.

“Haz, you can’t appreciate the fountain if you can’t hear it,” explained Louis, a touch of exasperation in his voice. “Plus, you’re going to have some pretty intense helmet hair. I, for one, would like to appreciate your new haircut before it gets flattened to oblivion in a helmet that we can safely assume is caked with Niall’s sweat.”

“I…ew. Okay.”

Harry let go of Louis’s hand. Louis unclipped the helmet strap, sliding a few fingers in between the plastic and Harry’s chin to make sure it didn’t pinch. Once the helmet was off, Louis reached up and ran a hand through Harry’s flat, slightly sweaty hair, ruffling it a few times for good measure.

“There,” said Louis with a soft smile. “That’s much better.”

“Thanks,” said Harry. He felt jittery, like he just downed three espressos in a row. Louis’s hands were resting on Harry’s shoulder, still idly playing with the short tufts of hair at the nape of his neck. He wasn’t looking at Harry, though, his eyes focused on something a little ways off. His unguarded expression made him look soft, somehow. Harry knew he was staring, but didn’t want to stop. He hadn’t felt this free to look at a boy like this in so long. It was intoxicating.

Louis tore his gaze away from whatever had caught his attention and looked up at Harry. Harry was pretty sure he saw Louis’s eyes flick down to his lips, just for a moment. They were only a few inches apart now, and it would be so, so easy to lean in, brush their lips together…

“So! The Trevi Fountain!” exclaimed Louis suddenly, yanking his hands away from Harry’s hair and clapping them together. Harry blinked and took a step back from Louis, looking around. Right. Rome. Where anyone might recognize him, long hair or not.

His heart beat rapidly against his ribs, but he took a deep breath and followed as Louis lead them closer to the fountain, filling the space between them with a steady stream of commentary.

“Rome’s largest Baroque fountain. Dates back to the 17th century, but like all things Roman supposedly has some connections to Antiquity. But the most important thing about the fountain is something we’re about to do.”

Louis gently elbowed his way past a couple with a selfie stick and a small family until they were right in front of the fountain. He rooted around in his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins.

“Are we going to throw coins and make wishes?” asked Harry, grinning.

“Harry, please,” scoffed Louis as he counted the coins in his hand. “This is Rome. There are traditions that need to be honored. Turn around, back to the fountain.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at Louis, but followed his instructions.

“So, you need to throw the coins with your right hand over your left shoulder and with your back to the fountain,” explained Louis. He held up a coin. “One coin will guarantee your return to Rome.”

Harry opened his right hand and wiggled his fingers. Louis gently placed the coin in his palm, but held up a finger.

“A second coin will bring you a new romance.” Louis looked at Harry closely. Harry bit his lip, grinning, and kept his palm open. Louis pressed the second coin into Harry’s hand.

“And a third coin will bring marriage.”

Harry winked and Louis and motioned for the coin. Louis nodded approvingly, dropping the third coin into his hand. He reached back into his pocket and grabbed some more, turning around so he was shoulder to shoulder with Harry, back to the Trevi.

“Over your left shoulder, remember,” cautioned Louis. “Fire away!”

Harry tossed the coins in a high arc behind him, listening for the plops when they hit the water. He turned around to look at the fountain, leaning on the railing, the early evening sun hitting the side of his face. He glanced over at Louis. He was leaning against the railing, but his back was still towards the fountain. His head was turned towards the fading sunlight, eyes closed.

“How many did you throw, Lou?”

Louis cracked open one eye, glancing over at Harry. “Hm, wouldn’t you like to know? Come on, I have one more place to show you before it gets dark.”

 

* * *

  
The sun was just starting to dip lower in the sky when they stopped at their next destination. Harry was a bit confused at first. It seemed like they were just pulling off at a giant, busy, multi-lane traffic circle. They got off the bike and Louis grabbed Harry’s hand, dragging him across the street until they reached the center. He dropped it once they were safely through the traffic.

“Whoa,” said Harry. Sunken into the middle of the traffic circle was a cluster of ruins, illuminated by the setting sun and some strategically placed floodlights. The whole area was surrounded by a railing to keep people from tumbling over the edges and into the ruins. “What is this place? Why’s it so far down there?”

“This,” said Louis, turning to lean on the railing and look out over the crumbling buildings, “is called Largo di Torre Argentina. It used to be the site of some ancient Roman temples. Actually, lots of historians think that this is probably closer to the site where Caesar was stabbed, not the Forum. And it’s low because that used to be how low the city was, actually. Over time sediment and trash and other stuff built up, raising the street level. It’s kind of like this around the Pantheon, too.”

Harry joined Louis leaning against the railing, basking in the glowing orange light of the setting sun. He looked out over the ruins, when movement caught his eye. He squinted, then noticed another something dart through the ruins.

“Wait...are those cats?” asked Harry.

Louis grinned. “Yup.”

“Why...wait there’s more over there too! There’s gotta be...dozens!”

“Isn’t it cool? This whole thing is actually a no-kill cat shelter. Want to pet some cats?”

“Um, yes please. We can go down there?”

“Come on.”

Harry tried to ignore the flutter in his stomach when Louis reached out to grab his hand again. He led him towards some stairs Harry hadn’t noticed, and they walked down into the ruins and along a fenced in path to a very modern-looking door in the side of the wall.

Inside looked like any other animals shelter, with the cats wandering around freely over stainless steel counters and tiled floors littered with cat toys. They were greeted by a volunteer, who cheerfully rattled off some facts about the cats, Louis translating for Harry. (“She says that cat is everyone’s favorite,” explained Louis, pointing to a handsome grey creature. “So they named it George Clooney.”).

Louis insisted on buying a souvenir magnet shaped like a cat for Harry after the volunteer explained all money made on sales from the small gift shop went directly towards supporting the shelter.

By the time they climbed out of the ruins and got back to the moped it was almost dark. Harry glanced at his watch. It was already nearly eight o’clock. He knew he had to be back at the hotel before the crew left for sound check in the morning. That gave him twelve hours tops. Probably less, realistically, since there’d be hell to pay when he finally showed up. He had to factor in at least an hour of yelling and lecturing first. He sighed.

“Hey,” said Louis, coming up to Harry and knocking their shoulders together. “Why so glum, Curly?”

Harry looked at Louis. He was standing there with his hip cocked and and arms crossed, head tilted like he was actually curious to hear what Harry was thinking.

“I’m just thinking,” said Harry.

Louis nodded, as though he understood exactly what Harry meant. “How much longer do I have you for?” he asked.

Harry shrugged. “A couple hours. Then I have to go.”

“Right,” said Louis. He pulled out his phone, and frowned on it. He looked up, and seemed to do a quick glance around, before shaking his head at himself.

“Right,” he said again. He quickly typed something into his phone before locking it and shoving it back in his pocket. “There’s a lot we can do in a few hours. Hop back on the bike, Harold. We’ve got places to go. Things to eat. Like they say, when in Rome…”

 

* * *

 

The restaurant was loud, crowded, noisy, and full of competing smells - and that was just a step inside the front door. Harry had nervously taken his helmet off and finally ditched the shades (after Louis started teasing him horribly for keeping them on after the sun set). He didn’t feel too worried about being recognized, though. After all, he made it almost a whole day without incident, and this place seemed pretty out of the way. Plus, Louis walked into the restaurant like he already owned it. Harry wouldn’t be surprised if he knew everyone in here.

Sure enough, when Louis elbowed his way to the front counter a handsome man, maybe a few years older than Louis, looked up with a big smile on his face.

“Il Tommo!!” the man grinned, tossing the clipboard he was holding onto the counter and reaching over to clap him on the back. “Come stai?”

“Bene, Marco, tu?” answered Louis, raising his voice over the noise. “Siamo due, c’e spazio?”

“Per te, sempre! Vieni.”

Marco shuffled out from behind the counter and threw an arm over Louis’s shoulder, leading him towards the tables at the back of the restaurant. Harry stood there for a second, not sure what to do. Marco had effectively ignored him and stolen Louis in the blink of an eye.

“Oi, Curly, why are you standing there?” asked Louis, twisting around. “Keep up!” He wiggled his fingers at Harry, who took a few quick steps to catch up and grabbed onto Louis’s hand. They weaved through the crowd until they reached a long table already filled with people - some eating big plates of pasta, others sipping wine, and others on dessert. Everyone was seated on a variety of mismatched chairs and the table itself didn’t have a table cloth, but rather was covered in brown paper. They squeezed into two empty seats side by side on the edge of the table.

“So?” said Louis, resting an arm on the back of his chair and surveying the restaurant. “What do you think? Pretty great, right?”

“Um, it’s different!” said Harry, with a grin. “I’ve never seen a place like this before.”

“Not many tourists know about it, luckily,” said Louis, reaching for some bread in a basket at the center of the table. “It’s only open for dinner, and it’s all family seating. Also, it’s just like five minutes away from my apartment, which is obviously a big plus.”

“I take it you come here a lot, then? You and that guy seemed pretty close,” commented Harry lightly, also reaching for some bread. “Are you, um, friends?”

“Who, Marco? Yeah, he’s cool. I mean, I do come here a lot, so I’ve gotten to know him pretty well. He always gives me free wine.”

Harry made a noise, eyes focused some apparently very interested crumbs he was pushing around on the tabletop. He realized it was silly of him to just assume Louis just...unattached. Sure, he had pretty blatantly hit on him this morning, but lots of people date casually. Probably. Harry himself was supposedly dating three different models right now, after all. He felt stupid for feeling jealous, but there it was.

“Well, he’s very handsome, I guess,” said Harry, petulantly flicking a crumb off the table.

“Yeah,” said Louis, confused. “I’m sure his wife would agree with you? So he’s spoken for, if that’s what you were angling at?”

“Oh!” exclaimed Harry, looking up at Louis. His face flushed. “No! I wasn’t. I mean...nevermind.”

Louis’s eyes suddenly lit up. He grinned, and Harry jumped a little when he felt Louis’s foot hook around his ankle. “Were you jealous, H?”

“No,” Harry mumbled, pouting.“I wasn’t. Shut up. No. What’s good here, anyway? Where’s the menu?”

Louis laughed. He twisted over his shoulder and sought out Marco, signalling for him to come over. “Do you mind if I order for us? It’s just the menu changes every day and it’ll take a long time to explain it all.”

“That’s fine,” said Harry. “Just get me something good, okay?”

“Obviously,” scoffed Louis as Marco approached the table. “Any food stuff to avoid?”

Harry shook his head, and Louis started to rattle of the order. Harry watched Louis as he gestured and spoke in rapid Italian to Marco, who was scribbling the order on the paper covering the table. He could tell when Louis stumbled on words now and again, and occasionally his tone changed like he was asking a question, but he clearly took it in stride. That seemed to be the way he operated, as far as Harry could tell. Just taking things in stride, and not caring about what other people thought. Stranger showing up out of nowhere? Let him have your bed. Not sure how to say something in another language? Say it wrong until you learn.

Harry felt a weird pull in his chest. How could he be so fond of someone he barely knew? And who barely knew him? Part of Harry wanted to come clean to Louis, to confess who he was and why today should never have happened. The other part, though, wanted to greedily absorb every minute of this carefree feeling and keep today the way it had been. Just one day of holiday from his real life. To delve even further into the escape. To have real romance, for once.

He was startled out of his thoughts by a large carafe of red wine being set down on the table in front of him, shortly followed by two glasses. Louis was already reaching out to pour the wine, Marco having left some time ago with their order. Harry watched as Louis measured out generous servings into each of their cups.

“Lou,” said Harry, reaching for his glass. “I’d like to propose a toast.”

Louis raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth quirking into a small smile. “Oh?”

“Yup. To you. For being the nicest person I have ever met, and giving me the most incredible day I could’ve asked for. Like, the perfect Roman holiday. I don’t know you that well, but you’re just a great person, and funny, and generous, and ridiculously hot, actually, and very kind. So, here’s to you.”

Harry raised his glass up and then brought it to his lips, eyes on Louis for a reaction. Louis’s expression was soft and a light flush colored his cheeks.

“What was that middle one?” Louis asked.

Harry started downing his wine instead of answering. Louis laughed.

“Fine. I’m doing a counter-toast then. Firstly, in memory of those beautiful curls that first made me stop and check on you last night. I barely knew them, but they will live on in my heart forever. And secondly, to you. You’re not so bad yourself, Harry.” Louis winked at him and raised his own glass, draining half of it in one go.

The food came soon after. Louis had ordered some sort of delicious peppery stew called peposo, and they split grilled veggies on the side. For dessert they had panna cotta with a chocolate sauce. In what seemed like no time, the food was gone, and the last of the liter of wine was finished. Louis went to settle the bill, Harry trailing behind him, taking one last glance around the restaurant.

Check settled and goodbyes said to the staff, they stumbled happily out the door, a little tipsy from the wine and the company. Harry, emboldened by the wine, reached out and took Louis’s hand, twining their fingers together and pulling Louis towards him.

“Well hey there, Curly,” said Lou, falling into Harry’s chest. “I like you like this.”

“Like what?” asked Harry, slowly leading them away from the restaurant. He could see street lamps and the tell-tale shimmer of the river through the buildings. The river seemed like a good place to go. Romantic. “Drunk?”

“No. Happy. Relaxed.” Louis squirmed out of Harry’s grip so he could rearrange them, pulling Harry’s arm over his shoulder and tucking his newly freed hand into Harry’s back pocket. “So, remember earlier today?”

“Yes, Louis, earlier today is pretty fresh in my mind, funnily enough.”

“Cheeky. I asked you what you wanted to do with you free day? And you said sitting outside at a cafe, and getting gelato, and window shopping.”

“We did all of those,” said Harry happily.

“Well, you also wanted to go dancing.”

Harry turned and wrapped his other arm around Louis and started swaying them back and forth. “There. We’re dancing,” said Harry.

“You’re ridiculous,” groaned Louis. He didn’t step back though, and let Harry lead them in a slow, twirling dance down the sidewalk toward the river.

“Seriously, though, Harry. You said it yourself, you only have a few hours left.”

Harry didn’t respond, but stopped spinning them. They had reached the embankment of the river. There was a waning moon in the sky, reflecting off the water. Streetlights lit up the far bank. The air was warm, despite the breeze, and the sounds of the city felt like a white noise around them. It was as romantic as Harry had hoped it would be.

“So, dancing,” continued Louis. “There’s a club kind of nearby. It’s not bad, if you don’t mind an exclusively EDM playlist. It’ll probably be pretty crowded tonight, and some nights there’s a club photographer there, so...but there will be dancing.”

“Do you want to go dancing?” asked Harry, turning his eyes away from the river and back to Louis.

“If you do,” he responded with a half-hearted shrug. “It’s your day. I want to make sure you get a chance to do everything you want.”

Harry had always wanted to go dancing. Usually when he went to a club it was for an event or promo - he’d drop by, say hello, and be ushered back out into a sea of paparazzi to ensure his presence was noted. Harry knew dancing with Louis would be something else, but the sensible voice in the back of his mind was nagging him. A popular club, packed with people and tons of pictures being taken - it was a risk, but not the one Harry was planning on taking tonight.

“So?” said Louis, flipping his fringe with mock impatience. “What do you want to do?”

Louis looked so handsome in the moonlight. His body was relaxed from the wine, easily leaning on Harry.

“This.”

Harry leaned in and kissed Louis, bringing one hand up to cradle the back of Louis’s head. Louis’s hands automatically went to Harry’s waist. He melted into the kiss like he’d been expecting it.

“Yeah,” said Louis breathlessly when they broke apart. “That’s a good option. Better, even.”

Harry grinned and pulled Louis back towards him to press their lips together again. Without breaking the kiss, Louis pushed Harry back until his back pressed up against the railing of the embankment. Harry let out a small gasp when he felt Louis’s thigh slot between his legs.

“Lou, Louis.”

“Hmm?” asked Louis, his lips pulling away from Harry’s only to latch onto his neck.

“You said...ah! Shit, Louis. You said your apartment is close?”

“Right,” said Louis, taking a step back. “Good call. Come on.”

 

* * *

 

They were on each other the minute the apartment door shut behind them. Louis couldn’t believe this was actually happening. Everything about the day with Harry was so perfect it left him feeling almost unbalanced. Louis pulled at the hem of Harry’s shirt.

“Get this off. Off, off,” he chanted.

“You too,” Harry said as he his shirt over his head and tossed it to the side. Louis’s eyes raked over Harry’s body. Even in the dark apartment, he could make out Harry’s well-muscled body, his toned abs off-set by just the slightest hint of curves at his waist and accented by tattoos. That sight alone was enough for Louis to start feeling a heat pooling low in his stomach.

“Jesus, Harry,” he said, finally moving enough to untangled himself from his shirt. “How is it that every part of you is so beautiful?”

Harry didn’t reply, his own eyes fixed on Louis, lips parted. He reached out like he wanted to touch Louis, but then quickly pulled his hand back. He seemed suddenly hesitant and unsure of himself. It was at odds with how confident he had been when he kissed Louis just moments ago.

“Hey,” said Louis, brows furrowed. He crossed over to Harry and gently ran his hands over his shoulders. “Everything okay?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, it’s just...it’s been a while?”

“Since you’ve hooked up with someone?” asked Louis, peering up at Harry curiously.

“Um. With a guy.”

It suddenly clicked for Louis. Harry and the models and the rumours. His whole image. His desire to get away. Of course.

Louis let his hands drop from Harry’s shoulders, running them down his arms. Harry didn’t resist when Louis grabbed his hands and guided them to his waist.

“That’s fine,” said Louis. “I don’t mind. We aren’t going to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I want to, though,” said Harry. His grip on Louis’s waist tightened. He slowly moved his hands lower. Louis winked at Harry and made an encouraging sound. Slowly, a smile returned to Harry’s face and the hesitancy vanished. Hands firmly on Louis’s bum, Harry hoisted him up and carried him the three steps it took to get to the bed.

Louis let out a squeak when Harry dropped him on the mattress.

“Oi, you animal!” he said, pulling Harry down on top of him. Harry grinned and pushed their lips together again. Louis’s hips jerked up when he felt Harry’s hard cock press against his thigh through their jeans.

Louis pushed at Harry until he got the message and rolled to the side. Louis crawled on top of Harry, knees bracketing his thighs and sitting back until he was nearly settled in Harry’s lap.

“Mmm,” groaned Harry as Louis grinded down on him. They were still, frustratingly, separated by layers of denim.

“Too much fabric,” Louis muttered. He scooted further down so he could reach the button of Harry’s jeans. He quickly flicked them open and unzipped them so there was finally enough room to get a hand down there. Harry’s cock strained against the fabric of his briefs, a small wet spot already forming at the head.

“Lou,” Harry panted.

“Babe?” asked Lou, not looking up. He gripped Harry through the fabric, squeezing lightly as he moved his hand up and down, just enough to tease Harry with the friction. “You okay? Should I stop?”

“No, keep going, please. I just -” his voice cracked. “I don’t know. God, Lou. I don’t know if I can. Fuck. I’m sorry, sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” said Louis, stopping immediately. He moved his hands up to cup Harry’s face and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. Harry tried to turn away, to not look Louis in the eye, but Louis’s hands were on his cheeks, forcing him to meet his gaze. Harry squeezed his eyes shut.

“Harry,” whispered Louis. He dropped his head down to press a kiss onto Harry’s lips. “Harry, look at me. Please.”

Harry opened his eyes, blinking. A tear ran down the side of his face.

“Louis, I’m sorry. I want to, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey, none of that, babe,” chided Louis. “Don’t apologize, there’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“It’s just...” He sniffed, and let out a shaky breath. “I really like you. So much. And I haven’t been honest with you because I’m being selfish. And I know you won’t ever see me again, probably, and you’ll figure out why and you’ll hate me, and it’s just unfair…”

“Harry, shush,” said Louis, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice. “Harry. Listen to me, okay? Are you listening?”

Harry nodded. Louis’s heart ached at his expression. Harry looked sad and exhausted again, like he had when he first left Louis’s apartment that morning. A lifetime ago.

“You deserve the world. That’s a fact. You deserve everything you want. I don’t know everything about you, or why you’re so sad, but I know you shouldn’t be. I’m being selfish too, trust me. And...I’ll never hate you, I promise you that. You might come to hate me, but today was just so perfect. Harry, you’re perfect just as you are. Never listen to anyone who tells you different. Promise me.”

Harry let out a watery laugh. “Why would I ever hate you, Lou?”

“Just promise me, Harry, that you’ll never listen to anyone who tries to drag you down. You don’t let anyone else dictate how you live.”

“I promise.”

“Good,” said Louis, lowering himself down to kiss Harry again. He maneuvered them so they were on their sides, Harry’s back slotted against Louis’s front and Louis’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He held Harry, concentrating on feeling the rise and fall of his chest as his breathing evened out. The apartment was quiet, with just the distant noises of the street filtering in through the open window. Louis wasn’t sure how much time had passed before Harry spoke.

“I have to go, Louis,” said Harry quietly, breaking the peaceful silence.

“I know. Come on, I’ll drive you.”

They got ready quietly, not bother to turn on the light. Harry held Louis’s hand in a vice-like grip as they left the apartment and descended the stairs towards the street. He only let go to get on the back of the moped, and once he was on immediately wrapped his arms around Louis’s waist. Louis started the bike, looking over his shoulder to Harry.

“Hotel Rome Cavalieri, please,” said Harry quietly. Louis didn’t say anything. He just nodded, and drove.

The streets were nearly empty now, and quiet except for the sound of the motor as the moped sped through the night. Harry stopped Louis at the corner behind the main entrance to the hotel. Louis turned off the bike and waited for Harry to get off before throwing the kickstand down and standing. Harry unclipped his helmet and handed it to Louis, who took it without a word.

“I...,” Harry paused, and cleared his throat. “I have to leave you now. I’m going to go and turn around that corner, and I need you to drive away. Don’t watch me go beyond the corner.”

“Alright,” said Louis, determinedly looking straight ahead and not at Harry.

“Louis...I don’t know how to say goodbye. I don’t have the words for it yet.”

“Then don’t say it,” said Louis. He turned to Harry and grabbed him by the waist, pulling him into his chest, and kissed him. Harry gasped into Louis’s mouth, kissing him back with as much feeling as he could pour into it before pulling away. He took a step back from Louis, then, lips pressed tightly together, gave a sharp nod, and started to walk away.

Louis didn’t watch him go. He got back on the on the moped, but didn’t turn it on. He sat there, in the dark, waiting. A minute passed, then five, and then ten. When he was sure Harry wasn’t coming back, he started the bike, and drove off into the night.

 

* * *

 

Harry stood in front of his suite with a hand resting on the door handle, bracing himself. It was so late it was practically early, but he could hear a flurry of activity inside and the sharp, clipped tones of Mrs. Vereberg cutting through it all. His body was already reacting to the stress and he hadn’t even opened the door yet.

It was worth it, though. No matter what was waiting on the other side of the door, he had gotten a day of freedom with Louis. That was something that was his, and only his, and something they could never take away.

He took a deep breath and opened the door.

The activity in the room stopped and all eyes turned to Harry. He stepped across the threshold and gently closed the door behind him.

“What the hell have you done with your hair?” snapped Mrs. Vereberg. She turned to a small group of people sitting around a laptop propped on a coffee table and snapped her fingers. “You, confirm soundcheck. You, arrange a press conference and send out a press release saying Harry has recovered from his mild illness and the show will continue as scheduled. And you,” she said, rounding on Harry. “You come with me.”

She grabbed him by the arm and marched him out of the main room of the suite and into the bedroom, throwing the door shut behind them.

“This behavior is absolutely unacceptable!” she said, her tone dangerously. “Foolish and dangerous. Do you have no sense of responsibility?”

“My sense of responsibility is the only reason I came back,” replied Harry, trying his best to keep his voice calm. “My responsibility to my fans, and the crew, and even that horrible contract.”

“That ‘horrible contract’ has given you everything. Simon is not going to be pleased when he hears this.” She waved her phone threateningly in front of Harry’s face. “He’s the one who put you on top, and you’d better remember that. You do as you’re told, Harry. You won’t sell a single album if you don’t listen to your team. ”

Harry closed his eyes, Mrs. Vereberg’s words weighing on him. He had heard the argument before and had let it convince him when he was just a kid, desperate to be someone and eager to please. But that was then.

“Believe it or not,” said Harry, opening his eyes and meeting Ms. Vereberg’s gaze “That threat really doesn’t scare me. My contract ends at the end of the year, and I’m going to honor that, because it’s my duty. And when I’ve fulfilled it, that’ll be that.”

“And if you don’t plan your next steps right, you’ll sink into obscurity and become nothing more than a has-been,” she said, arms crossed.

Harry shrugged. “That’s fine. And I understand we have a very full schedule today. I’m sure you’ll want to get some rest first.”

Ms. Vereberg stared at him for a second, and then sighed. She turned towards the door. “Get some sleep. You have to be up for a press conference before soundcheck. It’s going to be a long day.”

She left the room. Harry stood still for a second, not sure what just happened. It almost felt like he won something. He smiled to himself, and then turned off the light and collapsed into bed.

 

* * *

 

Louis had no idea what time it was. All he knew is that he wanted to sleep, possibly forever, and never get out of bed. Harry’s scent was still in the covers, so it made it easier to pretend that it was still yesterday. Sadly, the insistent pounding on his door was putting a small hiccup in that plan.

He groaned and rolled out of bed, stumbling over some shoes and a book bag strewn on the floor. He fumbled with the lock, and opened the door.

“Hullo, Niall,” sighed Louis, stepping aside to let him in.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” asked Niall, picking his way through the apartment to the kitchen. He unceremoniously swept the contents of the table onto the floor and pulled out laptop from his backpack.

“No,” said Louis, trailing behind him.

“It’s one hour til Harry Styles’s rescheduled press conference is what it is,” answered Niall, leaning down over the table to click at something on the laptop. “That Ben still expects you to go to. Have you checked your phone at all?”

“Turned it off.”

“Idiot,” said Niall. “Ben’s been trying to reach you all morning. Says you need that exclusive in to him before the press conference so you can go to the press conference and ask about the new rumors printed in said exclusive.”

“Shit,” said Louis. He turned back towards his bed and started patting the covers until he found the lump that was his phone. As soon as he turned it on it started buzzing with notifications, almost all texts or calls from Ben. Louis frowned as he started scrolling through them, wandering back towards the kitchen area. He threw himself into the chair and tossed his phone on the table before turning his attention to Niall’s computer.

“So,” said Niall, standing behind Louis looking at the laptop screen at the dozens upon dozens of thumbnails of Harry. Harry in Rome. Harry at the Trevi, grinning as Louis passed him some coins. Harry stealing a scoop of gelato from Louis’s cone. Harry and Louis on the moped. “What are we going to do?”

Louis anxiously tapped his finger against the computer. He reached across the table and grabbed his phone, looking at the last text from Ben.

_You’re going to that press conference no matter what, and if I don’t have an exclusive before then your job becomes the equivalent of an unpaid internship. Get me something I can sell._

“If I don’t get Ben a story before the press conference I’m basically out of a job and I’ll owe Ben money,” said Louis, looking up at Niall desperately. “I’m so broke. I’m going to be kicked out of my apartment. I’m already late on rent.”

Louis dropped his head onto his arm.

“We could tread the middle ground, maybe?” asked Niall, reaching over Louis’s shoulder and hitting some keys on the computer. A picture of Harry in his sunglasses wearing Niall's helmet popped up on the screen. “A fluff piece. Some super non-incriminating pictures, something about him seeing the sights?”

“Ugh. You know Ben wouldn’t count that. I promised him a scandalous exclusive. And Harry would know. He’d know once he saw those and he’d hate me and...God, Niall, can you imagine how betrayed he’d feel?”

Niall sighed and clapped Louis on the back. “Come on, mate. We both knew ages ago how this was going to end.”

“I can crash on your couch after I’m kicked out of here, right?” asked Louis, bringing his head up. He highlighted all the pictures on the computer and hesitated for just a moment before hitting delete.

“You know I still have those on my memory card, right?” asked Niall.

“I was counting on it. Let’s get to the press conference.”

 

* * *

 

The press conference was in the large ballroom of an old palace that was used for events and weddings and the like. The ornate decorations and moldings covering the walls were offset by risers making up a small stage in front of a backdrop covered in Harry Styles branding. There was a table on top, ready to go with a microphone and bottle of water. It was meant to be a short press conference, with standing room only for the press, separated from the star by a velvet rope barrier. The room was already filling up by the time Louis and Niall arrived, press passes on and camera in tow.

Louis grabbed Niall and elbowed his way to the front, ignore the dirty looks and muttered curses of the people he pushed out of the way. He was sure Harry would spot them here, front and center. He checked his watch and reached up to adjust his fringe. He knew it was a nervous habit of his, but he couldn’t help it.

“Stop that,” muttered Niall, batting Louis’s hand down. “Calm down, it’ll start soon.”

Louis opened his mouth to retort when someone entered the room from the side door near the stage. A few cameras started clicking until they saw it wasn’t Harry, just a member of his team. The woman climbed up to the stage and took one of the chairs at the table. She leaned over to the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Harry Styles.”

The energy shifted the minute Harry entered the room. Photographers lifted their cameras and started clicking, flashbulbs going off and temporarily bathing the room in strobe lighting. He smiled and nodded, giving a small wave before making his way to the platform. He stopped for a few minutes in front of the table, giving the photographers a chance to get their pictures before he sat down.

Louis watched Harry, expression pleasant, polite smile on his face. His eyes scanned the room, working back to front, until he was looking at the center row. Until he spotted Louis. Louis saw his eyes dart from him to Niall and from their faces to their press passes. The smile dropped off his face, his expression shifting from pleasant to shocked before it became perfectly blank, but he never took his eyes off Louis. Louis looked right back at Harry with a small, encouraging smile. Harry didn’t smile back.

Harry finally looked away from Louis and took a seat behind the table. The buzz in the room quieted and the camera flashes died off. The woman leaned over and whispered something in Harry’s ear, but whatever it was she said elicited no reaction from him. She turned towards the crowd.

“Harry will now be taking questions,” she announced.

Hands flew up, and the woman pointed to someone.

“I think the first thing we all want to say,” said an accented voice in the back, “is that we are all so glad that you’re feeling better today and are recovered from your recent illness.”

Harry’s eyes quickly darted towards Louis, but he quickly looked back at the person who asked the questions.

“Thank you.”

Harry nodded at someone else in the audience.

“So you’ve got quite the reputation with the ladies, Harry. My readers are dying to know how a girl can catch your eye?”

“Well, I’m not sure about that reputation,” Harry started. He glanced towards the woman sitting next to him, who raised her eyebrow and made a gesture for him to go on. “I guess I just like someone who’s kind and can make you laugh. Someone supportive.”

“You’ve had a lot of issues with paparazzi and privacy in the past, lots of leaked stories from people allegedly close to you. What are your feelings on that?”

Louis watched Harry as he listened to the question. His expression was difficult to read. Harry frowned a little, biting his lip. Then he leaned towards the microphone.

“I know that in my line of work some of that is to be expected.” He paused, as though considering his words carefully. “I like to have faith, though, that the majority of the press know where to draw the line. And I like to have faith in the people around me.”

When Harry turned his attention back to the room at large, Louis put his hand up as high as it would go. He knew Harry saw him, and he paused only for a second before nodding at him.

“On behalf of myself, I think your faith won’t be unjustified,” said Louis, looking Harry straight in the eyes.

Harry’s mouth dropped open a little, but he quickly composed himself. “I am so...glad to hear you say it.”

Louis felt some tension he hadn’t realize he’d been carrying drain away. He grinned at Harry, who let himself grin back. For the first time, they were seeing each other without any half-truths between them. Louis tried not to think about how it was also the last time they’d be seeing each other.

“What stop on the tour was your favorite?” asked a voice behind Louis, wresting Harry’s attention away from him.

“Each city is special to me,” said Harry, not missing a beat. “It would be difficult to choose. But...Rome. Definitely Rome. This city will hold a special place in my heart for as long as I live.”

Harry looked towards Louis again, their eyes locking. Louis’s heart ached. He mouthed “thank you,” to Harry, who gave him a subtle nod in return.

Harry then covered the mic with one hand and turned towards the woman next to him. He whispered something to her, and they carried on a short, hushed conversation. She finally nodded, and Harry leaned back in his chair, making to stand up.

“Harry will now meet some of the members of the press,” she announced.

Harry walked down towards the rope separating the press from the stage. He shook hands and exchanges some brief words with the reporters who were lucky enough to be in the front, sometimes pausing for pictures. Soon, he was in front of Niall. He reached out to shake his hand.

“Niall Horan, photographer,” said Niall, trying his best to keep a straight face.

“Thank you for coming,” said Harry, with a nod.

“Just a second, Harry. Er, Mr. Styles,” said Niall before Harry could move on. “I’d like to give you some...commemorative photos of your trip to Rome.”

Niall balanced his camera on his hip so he could pop out the memory card, making sure Harry could see what he was doing.

“Took them myself,” said Niall, passing the memory card to Harry. “But the last thing I need is more pictures of Rome, right?” Harry’s hand immediately wrapped around it in a tight fist.

“Thank you. So much,” said Harry.

He turned towards Louis, eyes searching his face. Louis looked back at him. He could feel his expression going soft, but he couldn’t help it. Louis reached out his hand and Harry took it, gripping it hard.

“Louis Tomlinson. I work with an English-language paper here in Rome.”

“I’m very happy to meet you,” said Harry, giving Louis’s hand an extra squeeze before letting go. He opened his mouth as though he were going to say something more, but then closed it. He nodded towards Louis, then continued moving down the line.

After shaking a few more hands, someone from his team ushered him back to the stage. He said one final thank you, and with a final glance at Louis, left the stage, more members of his team coming up to him and directing him. Louis watched as Harry walked towards the door and kept his eyes trained on it even after it shut behind him. The reporters and photographers started filing out of the room, but Louis couldn’t bring himself to look away from the door. He knew Harry wasn’t going to come back, but he wasn’t ready to leave yet. After a minute he felt Niall clap him on the back before heading out.

When the room was empty and quiet, Louis turned and walked through the empty hall. He paused at the door, indulging in one last glance backwards, and then turned forward and stepped out into the city.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on tumblr! I'm  
> [nowweare9direction](http://nowweare9direction.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Rebloggable tumblr post [here!](http://nowweare9direction.tumblr.com/post/145459256879/when-in-rome-by-nowweare9direction-19500-words)


	2. Epilogue

_One year later…_

It was an unseasonably warm day and Louis couldn’t be happier about it. He sipped on his spritz as he looked out over the piazza. Niall and Liam were supposed to meet him here for an aperitivo, but they were, typically, running late. Louis already went ahead and ordered drinks for them, and the cool glasses were sweating in the sun. The aperitivo was to kick off a night of celebration in honor of Louis officially passing his guide certification test.

A few more minutes passed before Louis spotted his friends heading towards his table.

“Tommo!” yelled Niall, wrapping him in a hug. “Congratulations! We’re going to celebrate so hard tonight.”

“Auguri,” said Liam with a grin, sitting down.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” said Niall, raising his glass. “Firstly, to Liam’s sister’s friend’s whoever it was who let you into her school for like, practically free.”

“Hear, hear!” grinned Louis, reaching over to ruffle Liam’s hair.

“Secondly,” continued Niall, “I propose a toast to me, who saved Louis from destitution and homelessness when he was kicked out of his apartment after dramatically quitting his job, taking the moral high ground, and being an all around good guy.”

Louis flicked off Niall, and Liam looked a little confused, but toasted nevertheless. Louis had told Liam some of what happened, in really vague terms. He knew that Louis met someone who had to leave, and that he had a fight with his boss so he quit his job.

“And finally, a toast to Louis, for being a goddamn boss and achieving his goals!”

They cheered, clinked their glasses together, and drank.

 

* * *

 

Louis woke up late the next morning, mildly hungover but overall content from a successful night out. He spent the afternoon lazing around his small, cramped bedroom in the back of Niall’s apartment, alternating between catching up on some shows and napping. He had just woken up from a late afternoon nap and was idly flipping between different apps on his phone, occasionally sending off a text or a snapchat.

He was scrolling through his twitter feed when he saw it.

 **Harry Styles. @Harry_Styles** : There’s no place like Rome.

Louis nearly dropped his phone. He followed Harry after that day, but Harry never followed back. Louis hadn’t expected him to, and it tugged at his heart a little every time Harry tweeted, but his cryptic tweets always made him smile a little.

There was a link to an Instagram picture which Louis quickly opened. Then he really did drop his phone.

Harry had posted, in full color, one of Niall’s photographs. It showed a deep orange sun setting over some ruins that Louis instantly recognized as the Torre Argentina. Two figures were leaning on the railing overlooking the ruins, one taller and wearing a motorcycle helmet and sunglasses, and the other a little shorter, standing on tiptoes to whisper in the other person’s ear.

“Oh my God,” muttered Louis.

“Louis!” came a shout outside his door. Half a second later Niall barged in, phone in hand.

“Did you see Harry’s twitter?” asked Louis, brandishing his phone at him.

“What? No, you know I don’t do the twitter. Did you look at the news?”

“Niall. You know I don’t read the news.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and then swapped phones without a word.

“Hey, that’s my picture,” Niall muttered, looking at the screen and scrolling through.

Louis didn’t answer. Pulled up on Niall’s phone was an article on Billboard with the headline _Exclusive: Harry Styles Opens Up and Comes Out - His Music, And His Image, Are Headed In a New Direction_.

“What.”

Louis scrolled through the article, heart beating too fast to do anything more than skim. He looked up at Niall, shocked.

“Bro,” said Niall, giving Louis a look. “He’s totally in Rome. He's totally in Rome to find you. This is so fucking romantic.”

“Oh my God. But like...what if he’s just in Rome for fun, though? Shit. I mean, he doesn’t follow me. He probably has no idea I even follow his twitter, he has literally millions of followers. I mean, that is leaving a lot to chance, isn’t it? We could be blowing it out of proportion.”

Niall rolled his eyes. “I know he’s here for you. Firstly, there were hundreds of pictures on that memory card he could’ve chosen, plenty without you.”

“Well. Maybe he just like the picture,” argued Louis, crossing his arms.

“And secondly,” continued Niall with an extremely smug look on his face, “he just tweeted again.”

Louis snatched his phone back from Niall.

 **Harry Styles. @Harry_Styles:** IO(Lo)U dinner. Meet you at 8, same place as last time.

The notifications on the tweet were already going wild. Louis quickly fired off a tweet back, saying “be there or be square,” but even a few seconds after writing it the message was already buried beneath hundreds of replies.

“He’ll see it, right?” asked Louis uncertainly.

“Probably not,” shrugged Niall. “But he’ll be there anyway, don’t you think?”

Louis grinned. “Yeah. He will.”

 

* * *

  
Louis was running late. He didn’t mean to be, but a shower, a shave, and four outfit changes took longer than he thought, and then he had to deal with Rome’s evening traffic. It was about ten past eight when he finally arrived at the restaurant.

He took off his helmet and quickly ruffled his hair, trying to counteract any helmet hair from the ride over. He paused in front of the door. The restaurant was crowded, like usual, and it was hard to see past the menus and accolades taped to the windows to spot anyone inside. His heart was rabbiting in his chest - he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so nervous and hopeful at the same time.

Hesitantly, he reached for the door. What if he opened it, and Harry wasn’t there? Maybe he thought Louis didn’t get the message. Or maybe Louis really didn’t get the message, and read into it, and Harry wasn’t even in Rome at all.

Louis gave his head a shake, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open. He was immediately surrounded by the familiar smells and chaos of the busy restaurant. Marco was behind the counter, ringing up a customer. He saw Louis and gave him a little wave, as normal, then went back to work. Louis scanned the restaurant, desperately trying to spot Harry in the crowd.

There.

Louis was captivated. Harry’s hair was a bit longer, just about chin length and pushed back with a colorful scarf. He was sitting at the end of a table shared by a family, entertaining the young daughter by attempting to hang a spoon from his nose. It clattered to the table, and the girl laughed ecstatically, reaching for the spoon to try it herself, tugging on her mother’s sleeve.

Harry looked up from the table, eyes wandering around the room. When he turned slightly to look towards the door, he froze, eyes locking on Louis. His face broke into a huge smile, and he was out of his chair in a second, dodging servers and weaving through tables until he was in front of Louis.

He pulled Louis into a tight hug, nose pressed against his neck and arms squeezing him so hard Louis thought his ribs might crack.

“Well, hello to you too,” grinned Louis, wrapping his arms around Harry in return.

“Hi,” said Harry, loosening his grip and pulling back a little. He was still beaming. “You got my message?”

“Me and a couple million of your fans, yes.”

Harry grinned, and went in for another hug. “I wasn’t sure you’d come, after...well, everything. I wanted to message you sooner than this, but my label-”

“I know,” cut in Louis. “And we’ll talk about all of that. But first, I think you owe me dinner and, now that I’m thinking about it, like a hundred euros too, and buddy I am so broke right now you bet your ass I’m calling it in, popstar.”

“I owe you a lot more than that,” said Harry.

He grabbed Louis by the front of his shirt, pulled him in, and kissed him right on the lips in the middle of the crowded restaurant. Louis laughed as they pulled apart, and reached out for Harry’s hand. Together, they walked back to the table and settled in, hands intertwined, eyes on each other, and all of Rome waiting for them outside the door.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr! I'm  
> [nowweare9direction](http://nowweare9direction.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Rebloggable tumblr post [here!](http://nowweare9direction.tumblr.com/post/145459256879/when-in-rome-by-nowweare9direction-19500-words)


End file.
